Page 14 of The Fortunes of Ashmore Castle

‘Well, perhaps she doesn’t have to. But she could. And she went to the National Art Training School. Then there’s the Kemp-Welches – Margaret, Edith and Lucy. They’re terribly respectable. And Lady Elizabeth Butler: Queen Victoria bought one of her paintings. For money.’

‘In France, there was Rosa Bonheur,’ Grandmère said, ‘who was awarded the Légion d’honneur. The first female artist to receive it.’ Her eyes twinkled naughtily, because Rosa Bonheur had led a famously irregular life, but she was sure Aunt Caroline would never have heard of her.

Aunt Caroline was looking besieged. ‘Well, it might be as you say. I really don’t know. But Maud won’t like it, I’m sure of that. And, darling,’ she turned back to Alice, ‘who will you marry?’

‘I shan’t worry about that just yet, Aunty. But Princess Louise married a duke.’

Grandmère chuckled. ‘You have a talent, and it is rare. Anyone can marry. Remember, child, art lasts. Kisses do not.’

At those words, Alice’s mind was seared by the memory of Axe’s kiss. And a vision of him alone at his cottage, wondering why she didn’t come any more. She had not dared to go and say goodbye to him. Grandmère noted the look of desolation that passed quickly over her face, but said nothing. It confirmed a suspicion she had formed. But great art so often came from suffering, and perhaps it was within Alice to make great art. One would see. For now, she must be encouraged – and kept from harm until it was seen how good she really was.

‘She will live here with you while she studies,’ she said to Aunt Caroline. ‘Nothing could be more convenable. Who could object to it?’

‘Maud could,’ Aunt Caroline said gloomily. But then she cheered up. ‘It will be nice to have a young person about the place again. And I’m sure studying won’t take up all of your time. I shall take you about, Alice dear, and introduce you to people. Your mother, I’m afraid, sadly neglected that part of your upbringing.’

Alice caught her grandmother’s eye in what appeared to be almost a wink, and wisely did not argue. ‘That will be nice, Aunty,’ she said.

The Tullamores’ town house in Edinburgh was in Drummond Place, but Angus walked up to the office in Queen Street to find out where his father was that day. It turned out that Sir Gordon was there, so he had no time to brace himself and assemble his arguments, but was shown straight up to his father’s room on the first floor.

It was a dreich day of heavy dark skies and freezing sleet, a day to be indoors, and there was a grand fire blazing under the enormous marble fireplace, and the many candles of the electric chandelier were reflecting gaily in the mirror over the mantelpiece. But his father was standing in front of the hearth with a face like a thunderstorm.

Angus said meekly, ‘Hello, Father,’ and braced himself.

At first it was very bad. Scalding words poured over him.

‘Have you the least idea what an impossible position you put me in?’

‘Thoughtless, irresponsible . . .’

‘The appalling insult to our guests . . .’

‘Your mother’s feelings . . . great distress . . .’

‘Shocking insult to Miss Huntley . . .’

‘Brought shame on the family . . . Loss of Huntley’s business . . . Never hold up our heads again . . .’

Angus endured, eyes lowered. Finally his father stopped for breath, and said, ‘Have you nothing to say for yourself?’

‘I’m sorry, Father,’ Angus said.

‘Sorry?’ Sir Gordon bristled at the inadequacy. ‘You’re sorry? What in the Devil’s name did you think you were doing?’

‘I didn’t know what else to do,’ Angus explained desperately. ‘I told you over and again that I couldn’t marry Diana. I begged you to understand. I tried to reason with you—’

‘Reason with me?’ A bark of fury.

‘But you wouldn’t listen. If I’d stayed we just would have had the same awful row but in front of the Huntleys, which would have been much worse. So I had to go.’

Then Sir Gordon was off again. ‘Selfish indifference to the name and honour of your family . . . Utterly careless of your mother’s feelings . . . No thought to any convenience but your own . . .’

Bad as it was, Angus began after a while to sense a faint but growing bafflement in his father. After all, words hurt, but they did not actually change anything. Raw and sore inside, Angus felt it was coming to an end. His father ran out of steam at last and stood glaring at him in exhausted rage. ‘I don’t know what can be done to recover the situation,’ he concluded, after a pause. ‘Your reputation is beyond salvage. You must bear the consequences of your actions. My concern now is to save what can be saved of the Tullamore dignity and the family’s fortunes. The Huntley connection is lost. They will never forgive the insult, and there’s already talk of a match between Diana and Peter Banchory.’

Angus’s spirit lifted a very little. ‘Then if there is no more question of my marrying Diana . . .’ For a moment he thought of her with pity. Would she object to this sudden transfer of nuptials, or would she meekly comply? Had she viewed him with any more than the same compliance? He hoped, he really hoped, he had not broken her heart. He resumed, though his father’s face was darkening again: ‘. . . then, I can marry Rachel, can’t I?’ No immediate answer. ‘She’s an earl’s daughter. It’s not a shameful match.’

‘You may do as you please,’ Sir Gordon said coldly. ‘I wash my hands of you.’ The way he said it did not sound like good news. ‘At the Hogmanay festivities, George Culross proposed a connection. He has lumber and rail interests that would fit well with our coal. And he has a daughter, Fiona, nineteen and ready for marriage.’

‘But—’ Angus began.